


total control

by arcadianwriter (noxstories)



Category: Dream SMP - Fandom, Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, DREAMON AU, Dark, Demonic Possession, Possession, Resurrection, SPOILERS FOR TOMMY’S LATEST STREAM
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-02
Updated: 2021-03-02
Packaged: 2021-03-15 15:08:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29810259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/noxstories/pseuds/arcadianwriter
Summary: Wilbur shoots him the most unimpressed look he can possible manage. “Can you stop playing Able Sisters if I decide to help you?” He asks, and groans when Tommy nods eagerly. “Then I guess I don’t have a choice.”—Dream has been trapped in his own mind with a dreamon controlling his every move — that is, until he regains consciousness with Tommy’s dead body. Distressed, the dreamon finds it easier than ever to control him, and continue to pull the puppet strings of the entire server.Well. Tommy isn’t going to stand for that, even if he is dead. And he has a companion on his journey to kick the dreamon to hell and back — it’s less of Caspar the Friendly Ghost and more of a pissed off and tired Wilbur Soot who wants nothing more than to return to his peaceful afterlife.But the dreamon isn’t going to let anyone get in its way of controlling the whole server: especially not Tommy fucking Innit.
Relationships: Clay | Dream & TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit
Comments: 10
Kudos: 148





	total control

**Author's Note:**

> welcome to another dreamon au because i can’t control myself :’) a lot of the content for this can also be found on my tumblr, @dreamsclock, so if you want more content from this au, check that out !!
> 
> trigger warnings: warnings: descriptions of a dead body (talking about blood/bruising/death), death/murder, mention of dead animal, extreme emotional distress, possession, demons,, panic attack, manipulation, guilt, dark themes + content !! this first chapter is significantly darker than the others so pls be warned djskdbdkfn 
> 
> enjoy !! :]

Drowning is a slow, painful process. But it’s the waking up that’s the worst. 

Dream resurfaces in his own body for the first time in god knows how long, every inch of his skin throbbing and every muscle inside him aching. He retches, turning to the side, but nothing comes up - no sea, no saltwater, nothing, because sometimes he forgets the vast ocean is his own mind. It’s not real, but it sure as hell feels it. 

It takes all his strength to roll over and collapse onto his back, breathing ragged, harsh. The world world begins to flicker into focus; slowly, getting clearer and more distinct as time ticks by. Blindly, Dream grounds himself by checking his inventory - blinks, ungrounded at the discovery he only has potatoes. Potatoes and a book, one book. 

...Something isn’t right.

Dream’s eyes blink themselves open properly, and when everything clears, he’s staring up at an obsidian ceiling.

Twisting his head from side to side in panic only brings more obsidian, some of it crying, none of it welcoming. He’s entrapped in a small obsidian box, with only a few items in the room as far as he can see: a lectern to his left, a chest, a sink, but that’s about it. The whole room is bare: until he looks to his right.

Looking to his right brings the image of a boy lying dead on the floor beside him, covered in blood and bruises, and a horrified noise pulls its way from Dream’s chest and out his mouth. 

It’s horror that propels him upright, despite his throbbing headache and aching body, and it’s horror that gives him the strength to start crawling towards the boy on his knees and on hands that are a lot bloodier than he’d like them to be. The boy doesn’t move. The boy doesn’t breathe. Dream is doing enough of that for the both of them - harsh, panicked sounds that barely count as proper inhales and exhales. 

This isn’t real. It  _ can’t _ be real. Dream recoils when his foot knocks against the boy’s leg, horrified at the solidity. It feels real, but there’s no way in hell that he can be living this nightmare. His mind scrambles for any information it can grasp; panicked, terrified, it comes to an uncertain conclusion of aching hands and a black eye and someone familiar pleading with him to stop. 

Someone familiar, someone familial. Someone that he knows.

But he doesn’t think he recognises this kid: he’s too small for his clothes that dwarf him like armour, and he’s bloodied and bruised perhaps beyond recognition. Or maybe it’s just his mind that refuses to connect the face with a name, the name Dream has nightmares about when he’s drowning at the bottom of the lake, because-

Because this isn’t Tommy. It  _ can’t _ be Tommy.

And yet it is, without a doubt. His blonde hair is dirty, bloody, but the style is just as recognisable as always. He’s wearing his distinctive red and white t-shirt, his face is the same, if bruised, it’s Tommy, his mind unhelpfully decides to process, it’s Tommy, Tommy is dead, and it doesn’t take a genius to put together the puzzle pieces and see the true picture staring back at him. 

The blood on his hands is not his own. Dream stares at them, numb horror settling into his bones like a layer of dust, and for a moment there’s nothing but silence in the cell.

And then Dream springs to life, propping Tommy upright and shaking him, roughly, desperately, because he’s supposed to respawn, he still has a life left, doesn’t he? He’d lost one in the final control room, had lost one in this nightmare cell, but he should still have one left. His throat clogs, even as he clears it, trying to force out something, anything, to make the situation better. He’s always been good at talking himself out of bad situations. It’s his thing. He’s supposed to always have a plan.

There is no plan to get out of this. 

There is no clever last minute trick or careful strategy or incredible improvisation to change his fate. Tommy lies dead on the floor, his hearts shining clearly on his wrist, all three of them glowing dull black, and Dream wants to sob, so he does. It’s raspy and agonising and painful on his throat, but once he’s started, he can’t stop. The sounds that leave him are horrified, raw and helpless and afraid, but nobody is around to hear. Nobody is alive to hear.

“Wake up,” he pleads, his first proper words in months, “wake up, Tommy, Jesus, you have to- wake up,  _ wake up,  _ please.”

Tommy doesn’t answer. Nothing alive does. Instead, there’s a slither of a voice in his mind, something ancient and fatal and dangerous, something that makes Dream’s instincts scream  _ run, run away, before it catches you, _ but there’s nowhere for him to go.

Instead, all he can do is listen to its whispers. 

**_You did this,_ ** it tells him, and Dream breaks, curling in on himself and pressing his bloodsoaked hands to his ears to try to fend off the voice, **_this was your fault. You killed him._ **

“I didn’t,” Dream breathes, horror filling him, “I didn’t, I wouldn’t do that, he’s my friend, Tommy is my-”

Someone - something - forces his eyes open. Dream flinches as he stares at Tommy, unable to look away, unsure if he can look away. 

**_Does this look like something a friend would do?_ **

Dream doesn’t need to answer that one out loud. His eyes shut again, out of his control and his body shakes with silent sobs. 

**_I can make it better,_ ** the voice tells him, soft, and he feels something like claws brushing through his hair, painful, comforting, **_if you let me._ **

“How?”

**_Let me help you,_ ** the thing inside him croons, **_I can make things better again. I promise you. I can save Tommy. I can make sure you get the punishment you deserve for killing him._ **

“I didn’t mean to,” Dream whispers, broken, “I don’t remember, I don’t- Why did I do it?”

Silence is the only answer he gets. Fighting against his heavy eyelids and the sudden slow thump-thump-thump of his heart, Dream swallows thickly, turning away from Tommy and fixating on a cat across the room.

Hope comes to his mind irrationally, until he realises it’s dead, and everything in him dies further with it.

“Okay.” He can’t breathe; guilt is crushing him. “Okay, do it. Fix what I broke.”

And suddenly he’s plunging beneath the waves again, which crash over him, knocking the air from his lungs and forcing him to breathe underwater. He chokes, struggling, but there is no way up, and no light to indicate an escape.

Dream relinquishes control, and the beautiful part of this is, the dreamon thinks, is that it’s entirely voluntary. Manipulation works on everyone, and a dreamon’s vessel is certainly no exception.

Ignoring the throb of Dream’s bruises, the dreamon gets to its feet, stretches lithely. It has lots of plans, now - lots of plans that can be put into place without TommyInnit intervening. 

It shoots a scathing look back at Tommy’s body, a faint grin curling about its lips.

“If only Dream could’ve been there in your final moments,” it says with a fake sigh, “ah, well. This is the end of our story, Tommy.”

And it turns back to face the lava, humming something ugly and cruel under its breath.

It misses Tommy floating behind him with a viciously determined expression.

_ Oh no it’s not,  _ Tommy thinks, finally seeing the truth,  _ it’s not over until I say it is, bitch. _

**Author's Note:**

> i hope you enjoyed !! other chapters will probably be longer, but this is just to start it off gdjdhdjdh :]
> 
> if you enjoyed and wanna see more, feel free to leave a kudos and/or a comment !! they always inspire me to write more :D
> 
> see y’all in the next chapter, that’s gonna come from tommy’s pov !!


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